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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345958">Brutality</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolypoly_panda/pseuds/rolypoly_panda'>rolypoly_panda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Commission Clowns, Concussions, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Hurt Diego Hargreeves, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Seizures, Whump, and as per my usual he sorta gets one, if unconscious carrying is a hug that is...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:07:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345958</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolypoly_panda/pseuds/rolypoly_panda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Diego and Five get cornered and attacked by the Commission. But the agents fight dirty, and Five sustains a serious head wound. At first, Diego is skeptical about Five's health, but he ignores it for the sake of escaping alive.</p><p>Until Five is <i>very clearly</i> not okay, and Diego can’t help him, can’t fight something like a severe head injury, can’t protect his brother. And that?</p><p>That <i>terrifies</i> him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Number Five | The Boy &amp; Diego Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>438</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Brutality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All copyright content doesn't belong to me. All characters belong to Gerard Way and Netflix.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The butt of the Commission agent's rifle cracking with Five's skull had Diego flipping around, completely forgetting the asshole fighting him, focusing on his brother instead. It had earned him a quick uppercut to the gut, doubling him onto his hands and knees with a wheeze. He distantly registered the barrel of another rifle pushing into the crown of his head. But Diego ignored those things, too. His wide eyes fixed on Five.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five, who was sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Five, whose blood had already smeared down the side of his face, down his cheek, creating a garish mess of his uniform. Five, who was knocked out cold, unresponsive to the man hauling him up by the lapel of his blazer and dragging him bodily towards Diego and the other agent. </span>
  <span>"That was easy…" The man shrugged loosely. "I don't get what all the fuss is about."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was such </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though. The agent's eye was already purpling, swelling from where Five had elbowed him. A few of his teeth were missing, leaving a gaping hole in the cocky smile he flashed at Diego. Without even a strain of exertion, the man practically tossed Five to Diego's side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego's breath caught.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The head wound didn't look good. At </span>
  <em>
    <span>all.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Five's forehead was split open and drooling blood freely, the ragged flap of skin red and crudely ripped at the edges. He was breathing, which was a reassurance, but Diego worried about brain damage, or something permanent. They weren't exactly equipped to handle severe trauma at the Academy's infirmary, and Diego couldn't trust a hospital, what with the inevitable questions and legal concerns cropping up. After all, what thirteen-year-old would arrive in an emergency room with a gun-inflicted head wound. If it came to that, Diego was sure he could conjure a convincing story. Something to cover them for the time being.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Call the Handler," the woman standing before Diego said. The gun against the top of his head shifted as she laughed sourly. "She'll like this."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man clapped his hands together. "Talk about a kickass promotion. Bringing in </span>
  <em>
    <span>agent Five?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fuck, we're getting the best raise of our </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego ground his teeth. Heat burned his muscles, demanding he move, he stand up and beat the </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of the people on either side of him. He stifled the urge, though, and opted to breathe deeply, to relax. Losing his temper would only get him killed at best, and get them <em>both </em>killed at worst, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the agents joked, Diego thought that, perhaps, they didn't know just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> shit would get if the Handler got them. Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> she would do to him and Five. Or maybe they didn't care, the damn sheeple. Because Diego would be murdered for sure. Possibly interrogated, but likely executed without thought, like he was a fucking farm animal. And Five?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tortured, definitely. Murdered, eventually. God knew what else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did they truly not give a shit?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Assholes. Their disgusting snickering left Diego's fists clenching so tight his fingers cramped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flicked back down to Five.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five was faced towards him, his eyes closed, his hair flipped sideways, glued together with blood and sweat. At least his breathing was even, if a bit heavy, which was surprisingly reassuring to Diego. He felt the sharp line of his shoulders smooth out as he watched Five take a deep breath, then another, then one more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Diego glanced around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They needed an escape plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a gun to his head, there wasn't much he could do, he knew. Everything he could think of banked on Five waking up and being in a condition that allowed him to fight, or at least flee. But those were big asks. And from the look of Five, they weren't going to be answered any time soon. The Handler could be right around the corner, and Diego was stuck sitting on the floor like an absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and of course exhaustion and pain left him numb and aching and <em>stupid</em>, unable to even think of an idea</span>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five's finger twitched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego froze. He stared at it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It moved again, only just.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tap, then a pause, then tap, pause, tap. Long pause. Quick tap, tap, pause, tap…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Morse code.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego swallowed his smile. Pride pooled in his stomach. The cheeky son of a bitch; Diego could hug the bastard if they weren't held at gunpoint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The code repeated for a moment as the two chuckleheads called up the Commission on their ratty phone. While it had been years since Diego had used Morse, he still picked it up. It helped that Five was clear in his message; they used it at the Commission, likely, Diego realized. He blinked, watching the code a second time, just to make sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five was signing Op Ten: one distracts while the other acts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hargreeves had taught them many things, but the most prominent of maneuvers they had learned had been escape tactics. Things to help the siblings worm out of shitty situations, things to give them the upper hand even when it seemed impossible. Op Ten was risky, especially given how <em>close</em> his skull was to a bullet, but Diego was willing to try. They were lucky that the dumbasses believed Five to still be unconscious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Glaring up at the agents, Diego nudged his knee against Five's shoulder when they weren't looking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Five took a deep breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego tensed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited for Five's move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A beat passed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego's heart kicked against his ribs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five cracked an eye open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was gone with a flick of his wrists in a flash of blue, swallowed by a portal. Space spat him back out behind Diego's gun-wielding agent. Five kicked the back of her knee, folding her leg in and catching her in a headlock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego ducked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ears rang as the agent reflectively pulled the trigger on the rifle pointed at his head, the bullet narrowly missing. Flopping gracelessly sideways, Diego struggled to clear the heaviness in his mind. The other agent rushed at him. Diego scrabbled to his feet. The man screamed, getting low to tackle Diego. Diego wrestled a knife from his boot. He threw it wide. It curved, rearing and slamming into the man's back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't make a sound as he dropped. Mercy was on Diego's side, it seemed, as it had been a lucky shot: the knife was buried to the hilt in his shoulder, incapacitating him but leaving him alive, thankfully. With spinning vision and jelly-like legs, Diego tried to find Five. His bruises burned, his head rang, but he found Five with ease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five had already finished his fight, it seemed. He was hovering over the body of the woman. The agent's neck was angled wrong, snapped from her nape to the base of her skull. A shiver worked through Diego at the grotesque sight. Sometimes, he forgot that his brother had been an assassin. His baby-faced thirteen-year-old-looking brother who, once, had sworn to never kill a single person. When they were kids, Five had prided himself on being able to take down everyone without killing, without even the <em>threat</em> of killing. He had told Diego he had been violent, had told Luther that he had been aggressive...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, it seemed as if those sentiments had all but faded into the background. They had been a white noise in the apocalypse, Diego figured, and a nuisance in the Commission.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nonetheless, Five was still his brother. Still the same Five, if a bit feral, a bit wild in the eyes. Diego could trust him to have his back, he knew. And so, Diego buried his questions, his concern over the dead woman's body. Instead, he took a shaky step forward and called, "Five?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't sure how loud he was, but he was positive he had said something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five hadn't reacted at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Diego worked to close the distance. Every step had his legs aching, his gut throbbing from where he had been punched one too many times. Louder, Diego tried again. "Hey! Five!"</p><p> </p><p>Five jolted. <span>He looked spooked, but also tired.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, tired wasn't the word Diego was looking for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tired" in Five left him cranky, like a child, and had him pouting, complaining left and right about petty shit. Whatever this was had Five </span>
  <em>
    <span>silent</span>
  </em>
  <span> and still. Five swayed with every breath he took, his eyes heavy and downcast. He was staring at nothing, not even blinking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ringing in Diego's ears was beginning to subside, slowly but surely. His footsteps echoed in his ears, reverberating off the concrete and flimsy warehouse walls as he inched closer to his brother. "Hey, Five…?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Five stared in his direction, through him. Was he even conscious? A light fluttering had Diego's heart scampering in his chest. Panic gave him a shot of adrenaline, surging him forward and to Five's side within one quick step. <span>"Yo, Five." Diego's hand fell to his brother's shoulder. Five jerked. He said nothing, merely staring on. His fear gave way to clarity, and Diego struggled to keep his voice even as he asked, "You good, man?"</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I--" Five cut himself off with a strange little sound. He looked surprised by it, blinking fast. His throat worked for a moment, as if he were trying to vomit the words he was trying to say. Eventually, he mumbled, "Something's wrong."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego's eyebrow popped up. "Huh? Wait, with what? With you? You okay?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five licked his lips. His eyes glazed over further, flicking up, as if he were going to pass out. Slowly, Five repeated, "Something...is <em>wrong.</em></span>
  <span>" His voice cracked from the strain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego blanched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the hell was he supposed to do with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Five never said shit about shit. The old bastard would rather pass out in the attic of a psychotic serial killer's than tell them about a shrapnel wound, and for Diego, that was predictable. He could handle that. Merely cart Five to the Academy and be done with it. But this? What was he supposed to do? Reassure Five that everything was going to be okay? Promise him help? Leave him be? Clap him on the shoulder and tell him to get over it? Dealing with Five had always been complicated, but this was <em>beyond</em> complicated, and his head was already hurting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fumbling for a response, Diego tried to be as gentle as possible as he asked, "Like…'wrong' how? Like, you going to puke? Or like--"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No." Five reached out. His fingers curled weakly in the fabric of Diego's jacket. "N--I...I don't…" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego dropped to his knees, wincing around the protests his bruised stomach screamed at him. "Hey, Five. Five, look at me, man." He took Five's shoulders tightly, gripping hard. Whether to ground himself or his brother, Diego wasn't sure. But it smoothed his heavily beating heart to feel Five in his hold, to feel him, tangible and alive. Slowing his breaths, Diego said, "Dude, you've got to talk to me. Okay? What's going on? You need a hospital?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five tipped dangerously. Diego rightened him. His heart squeezed. A surge of fear kicked him in the chest, leaving him cold with anxiety, tense with anticipation. His brother </span>
  <span>was pale, and sweaty, and so out of it that Diego wasn't sure if he would even be considered "conscious" anymore. Was he even aware of what was going on? </span>
  <span>"Five? Just...sit down, okay? Just--" Diego tried to maneuver Five to the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five went boneless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego caught him, squeezing his arms to keep a sturdy grip on him as he guided him the rest of the way to the floor. </span>
  <span>A strangled sound squeezed out of Five's throat, drawn out with whatever breath was in his lungs. It sounded guttural, sounded <em>animalistic</em>, if Diego were being honest. And it fucking <em>terrified </em>him. Still in Diego's grip, Five's body locked up. His eyes rolled back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A seizure ripped through Five, leaving him unfathomably tense in Diego's hold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego cursed. His thoughts blanked, his breath caught. </span>
  <span>Using his hand as a cushion, Diego cradled Five's head as the seizure rhythmically curled through him, gripping and releasing his limbs every other second. A frothy, pink spit dribbled over the corner of Five's blueish lips. It looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pulling strangled sounds out of his brother here and there and making Diego wish his ears were still ringing, still unable to hear with <em>perfect clarity</em> just what was happening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he watched, and waited, completely helpless, Diego counted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fifteen seconds had already passed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, not "already". <em>Only.</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had it <em>only</em> been fifteen seconds?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered, decades ago, when mom had taught them first aid. That day, specifically, had been seizure training. A dread had worked through him, then, as he glanced over his siblings, over every one of their passive faces. They had all been paying attention, focused on following instruction, but Diego had been silently panicking behind them all. His pulse had been on his tongue, his palms sweating at the mere <em>idea </em>of having to do what mom was telling them. To have to count, to cushion his sibling's head, to make sure they didn't choke on their own vomit or seize too long...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been one of the many times Diego had realized just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked</span>
  </em>
  <span> that family was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Teaching <em>nine-year-olds</em> first aid seizure training for no reason other than it could happen in a fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Forty-three seconds had passed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, the seizure seemed to be slowing, releasing Five from its grip. Five exhaled heavily, his breaths hard and strained. His eyes slipped shut as he went limp on the floor. What pink spittle Five had choked up had puddled in Diego's palm, Five's cheek smushed in his open hand, his skin hot and feverishly pale. Blood was still bubbling up over the edges of his cut forehead. He had lost control of his bladder, had made the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrifying</span>
  </em>
  <span> noises Diego had ever heard, but Five was </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And Diego would take that as a win. <em>God</em>, that was a win after everything that had happened, after realizing that Five could have died from fucking <em>brain damage.</em></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diego sighed shakily. He </span>
  <span>blinked the tears from his stinging eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jesus, man," He chuckled wetly under his breath. Five didn't respond. Diego didn't expect him to. "Okay, let's go. Let's--" As smoothly as possible, Diego fit his arms underneath Five's shoulders and knees, hauling him up. He stumbled to a stand. The pair teetered, Diego already straining to hold both their weight. "Okay…" he worked out. "Okay, okay, okay. Okay, let's go." Making for the warehouse door, Diego hefted Five a little closer. Five's head lolled against Diego's shoulder, his breaths hot against Diego's neck. On any other occasion, Diego was sure he would be grimacing, or pulling away, or trying to slap Five awake if he were drunk. But now? Now, that was the exact sensation he had been looking for. He wanted to feel every breath Five took, every beat of his skittish heart, every twitch that rolled through his expended muscles. Diego was thankful for it all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay.: Diego whispered. "Hospital time."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As quickly as he was able, he brought them outside and into the dark of the night. He didn't hesitate to rush for the main streets, calling out for help as he went. They could break Five out of the hospital when he was given a clean bill of health. They could figure out how to hide from the authorities. They could think of anything they needed to in time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For now, Diego only had one priority: saving his brother.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! It's me, your local <i>garbage can</i> here to provide you with one of my <i>many</i> attempts to dislodge my depression-built writing blocks. I rarely post these, but I was feeling it today. So, that's why it may be a little shit. Apologies. But I truly just don't care because I <i>vibe</i> with whump, as y'all know. Head wounds plus seizures plus concerned siblings is just. Hell yes. Chef kiss. It's what I'm here for.</p><p>Anyhoo! Here's my <a href="https://itty-bitty-rampaging-committee.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>! And uhhhh yeah. Let's hope this writing trend continues and I can actually <i>update</i> a multi-chapter!</p><p>This is, as per my usual, unedited. Forgive typos, mistakes, and shit that makes no sense.</p><p>Thanks for the encouragement, Tumblr squad. Y'all know who you are. I adore y'all. Absolute babes.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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